Mob Daddies: A Contemporary Romance Box Sex

by Alexa Hart

  “You just told me you’re terrible at making drinks,” he smiles.

  “I mean, I know how to pour a beer!” I say. “Or whiskey. Anything with one ingredient.”

  The man’s phone buzzes and he pulls it out of his front pocket, frowning at a text message. As he looks at his phone, I notice one of the tattoos on his muscular arm, a black rose with a tangle of vines stretching up toward his shoulder. I feel my heart thud against my chest. My friend Kiki grew up in this neighborhood and she warned me that anyone with a black rose tattoo is dangerous as hell and should be avoided at all costs. I didn’t take her seriously at first, but she made me swear that even if I ignored every bit of advice she’d ever given me, I would listen to this. My legs feel a little too jelly-like for running, but I take a step back. If the man notices my sudden about-face, he doesn’t say anything.

  “Anyway,” I say. “I have to go.”

  “What about my drink?” He looks up from his phone, distracted but surprised by my sudden change in demeanor.

  I take another step backward. “Like you said, I’m terrible at bartending. You dodged a bullet. Anyway, thanks again,” I say. “For not killing me. Now or in the future.”

  And before he can respond I sprint away with Samson tucked under my arm and grateful that the odds of me ever seeing him again are so slim that I don’t need to worry about how insane I just acted, and how much I regret taking Kiki’s advice.

  Chapter 2

  Dax

  “Dax, I don’t understand. You want me to what?” Joey asks incredulously. “Did you hit your head recently or something?”

  “Don’t fire the girl with the dog,” I say into the phone as I straddle my motorcycle and gaze across the alley toward the entrance of The Spotted Owl.

  “What girl with what dog…?” Joey asks.

  I watch the girl with the stunning body and big brown eyes hurry into the bar with her ridiculous dog still tucked under her arm and hear Joey swear under his breath. “Ah, Hannah. She’s the worst fucking bartender we’ve ever had.”

  “Why’d you hire her then?” I ask.

  “She’s a friend of Kiki’s. They danced in some show together. You know I can’t say no to Kiki,” Joey sighs.

  “Are you telling me that girl’s a stripper?” I ask, shocked. She gave off the most innocent, doe-eyed, deer in the headlights vibe I’ve seen in a long time. It was fucking adorable. Sexy as hell.

  “No way,” Joey snorts. “She’s a ballerina or some crazy shit like that. Where the hell are you anyway? When did you run into her?” He asks.

  “That’s not important. What is important is that she told me you said the owner was an arrogant asshole,” I bite out.

  “I...uh…” Joey curses under his breath. “I mean you did break my nose once. What are you doing slumming in this part of town anyway?”

  “Running an errand,” I say.

  “Do the boys know you’re here?” Joey asks.

  “No. And I’d like to keep it that way.”

  “I’m not planning on saying anything about it,” Joey says. I hear the dog bark in the background and a glass break. “Fuck!” Joey shouts. “I’ve gotta go. You going to stop in later and assess the damage?”

  I think about the girl, Hannah. Her huge brown eyes looking up at me and her whole body helpless and shaking like a leaf. She wasn’t like the women I messed around with growing up in this neighborhood, but if she’s working at The Spotted Owl then she also isn’t like the women I date these days either. And even if it was refreshing to meet someone who didn’t immediately know who I was and what they wanted to get from me, she’s the last thing I need in my life right now. I frown. I’ve got too many other things to worry about, I don’t need a distraction.

  “Not this time,” I say. “And if she breaks another glass, fire her.”

  “But you just said….”

  “Fuck what I said,” I end the call before Joey can respond. I stick my phone back in my pocket and rev the motorcycle engine, easing it back onto the street. I shouldn’t be here at all. I’ve got a fucking mountain of paperwork and calls to make to prepare for next week’s takeover of Systems Industries. I’ve got a few stops to make in South Boston, some loose ends to tie up and then I’ll swing back by the garage to check on Bennie. His text message was cryptic, but it’ll have to wait for now. I have more pressing matters to attend to.

  I may live in the richest part of the city these days, but the hell that is South Boston is still always calling me back, reminding me how I learned to be a ruthless, arrogant asshole in the first place.

  Chapter 3

  Hannah

  I really can’t believe Joey didn’t fire me the minute I walked through the door. He must really, really like Kiki. He didn’t even yell at me for being late, again, and when I explained how I was almost flattened to the road by a motorcycle he just nodded and said, “that explains so much,”. I have no idea what that was supposed to mean, but hey, as long as I can keep my job, I’m happy. He’s even letting Samson sleep behind the bar on an old coat from the lost and found that I guess is now definitely lost. He did mumble something about how I’d better not break another glass or my good luck will run out, but so far the few regulars in the bar are ordering beer and whiskey, so I’m managing to hold my own.

  You’d think being a ballet dancer, who practiced balance and poise for pretty much my whole life, would have made me more graceful around a bar, but apparently the skills don’t translate very well. Even with the simple drink orders, bartending takes nearly all of my mental focus. Nearly. I still find myself annoyingly distracted by the thoughts of my run in with the motorcycle hottie. I know his tattoo was supposed to scare me off, but there was something so magnetic about him. Something electric. Something that made me want to get closer. I’ve never felt the urge to touch a complete stranger so badly. I’m not a prude, per se, but I’m definitely a serial monogamist, without much experience even there. But with him, I’d wanted something I’ve never wanted before.

  I worry that my lustful thoughts may have melted every ice cube in the bar, but luckily nobody seems to be able to tell my daydreaming apart from my general ineptitude at bartending. Either way, I desperately need to get my revved-up imagination under control and focus on what I’m doing. A motorcycle riding, bad boy is the last thing I need right now. What I need is to get myself together, pay off the mountain of debt I racked up while I was caring for my mom, and figure out what to do with the rest of my life. And that means I need to keep my job.

  Two haggard, older men sit down at the bar and engage in a heated debate over some Bruins player while I refill their whiskeys. It’s only my second shift, but I’ve noticed that the small, loyal crowd seems to enjoy two main topics of conversation, Boston sports and Boston’s most eligible bachelor, and the owner of the bar, Dax Hardin. Admittedly, I tune out most of the sports debates, but listening to folks discuss Dax is more like hearing people tell a myth. He’s like Hercules to them. The one that got out and made good.

  At first, I couldn’t believe Dax Hardin owned The Spotted Owl. The Dax Hardin. I’ve heard about him, obviously. He’s some sort of successful venture capital hotshot and billionaire real estate developer who donated tons of money to the Boston Ballet, along with about a million other charities. Whenever he came to see a show there was always such crazy buzz, after all, one check from Dax could make or break the whole repertoire. I was never invited to the swanky afterparties where Dax was known to parade around models or A-list actresses, but I know enough to know that men as rich as Dax Hardin don’t usually come from places like this. They are usually trust funders with Ivy League pedigrees and boarding school childhoods. I would know. I grew up with my fair share of them.

  This place is nothing like that. Like the man on the motorcycle. The people here are gritty. The sirens wake me up nearly every night when they pass by outside my window. I know I’m lucky to have found an apartment at all with so little money, but I can’t help but feel li
ke I don’t belong here. Like I am way, way out of my depth.

  Kiki told me her brother went to high school with Dax and she says he ran with the worst of the South Boston crowd in his youth, but he had brains and muscle, which helped him get out. But not before he earned his nickname and his reputation. The Bastard of Boston.

  Listening to the conversations about Dax have taught me two things. First, you can take the man out of South Boston, but not the South Boston out of the man. In other words, never cross Dax Hardin or you will pay, and pay handsomely. Apparently, he holds a grudge and values loyalty above all else.

  And second, never date Dax Hardin. The second one is more an inference based on how much the men at the bar like to boast about the numerous women he dates these days. According to the local gossip magazines, this week alone he’s been out with some Victoria Secret model and an actress I saw in a horror movie with Kiki. But even when I only knew Dax as a businessman and billionaire, I knew to stay away. Men like him are dangerous, maybe even more dangerous than the streets of South Boston.

  Kiki has a grand plan to meet and marry some rich guy who’ll take care of her. She always jokes that she knows she will be nothing more than a trophy wife, but she only needs it to last long enough to start her own cosmetics company or land a reality television show deal, and then she’ll be nobody’s trophy but her own. I’ll leave that kind of ambition to Kiki. Men like that are never faithful. They aren’t looking for love or commitment. To them, women are just objects they use to prove their worth. Just look at how my dad treated my mom. No thank you.

  Not that I am currently being chased by tons of billionaires, but I have an idea of the kind of man I want. Actually, I know exactly who he is. Armand Philippe. He’s the only one who’s kept in touch since I left the company and I’ve had a crush on him forever. I feel my face blush a little at the thought of Armand, but even more when my mind navigates away from my long-time crush and returns to the muscular, sexy body of my unknown motorcycle man. I imagine him wrapping those taut arms around my body, the luxurious feel of his heavy body thrusting into mine. Get it together Hannah.

  One of the grizzled old regulars catches me mid-fantasy and calls out to Joey, “Head’s up, Joey, I think she’s been tasting the merchandise, she looks a little peaked!”

  “Okay, okay,” I blush. Joey looks at me suspiciously. “It’s just warm in here, that’s all.”

  “Leave her alone,” Kiki calls out as she saunters over to the bar looking as beautiful and curvy as ever. Kiki has a habit of showing up to the bar on her night off, and thank God, because I could really use someone to talk to right about now. “Nobody hassles my friend, or they answer to me.”

  Kiki takes a seat at the bar and winks at me. Joey, who’s been in the back half the night playing Solitaire on his computer, suddenly appears next to me as if he’s always ready to lend me a hand.

  “But seriously, where was your head a minute ago?” Kiki laughs. “You were basically radiating sex.”

  “Shut up,” I reply in a whisper.

  “Were you thinking about what’s his name, Arnold?”

  “Armand,” I sigh. “And yes.” And then, because I hate lying, I add a “sort of.” Truth is, daydreaming about Armand never got me that hot.

  Joey pours Kiki a glass of beer and she sips it while she looks me over. “You okay?”

  “Yeah, totally,” I say.

  “She’s only cost half her salary tonight,” Joey adds.

  “She’s learning,” Kiki says.

  “Listen,” I lower my voice after Joey walks away to help someone at the end of the bar. “That whole black rose tattoo. Is that really a thing? I mean…”

  Kiki is about to respond when a man walks into the bar and the whole place instantly falls silent.

  “What’s happening?” I ask.

  The man slinks up to the bar. He’s thin and rangy, with a scar across his chin that looks like it should have healed better than it did. He looks me up and down in a way that makes my skin crawl as he takes a seat next to Kiki. He is the epitome of sleaze.

  “You’re new,” he says.

  “You shouldn’t be here, Nico,” Kiki hisses under her breath. “Unless you really do have a death wish.”

  “Free country. And Dax and I go way back. You know that.”

  “That’s how you remember it now?” Kiki asks.

  The man looks at me. “I’ll take a Jameson.”

  “Um…” I nod. I start to pour a drink, but Joey comes over and takes it before I can hand it to the man.

  “We’re all out of whiskey,” Joey says, coldly.

  “Too bad. You seen your boss lately?” Nico asks with a raised brow.

  “Why?” Joey asks. “You lonely since you got out of prison? They have dolls you can order online these days.”

  Nico sneers. “Hey, man, we’re all friends here. I’m just trying to enjoy my newfound freedom.”

  “Bullshit,” Joey says. “Now get the hell outta here before I call Dax.”

  Nico raises his hands in surrender. “Man, you sure make it hard to enjoy a drink in this town.” He winks at me. “Town’s gotten prettier. Tell Dax I stopped by to say hi.” He gets up and slithers out of the bar.

  “What was that?” I exhale after he’s gone.

  Kiki shakes her head. “The rose tattoo you were asking about. That’s Sunny’s gang. And Nico’s such a fan of blood and torture he even managed to be too awful for them. Got kicked out. Rumor is he works for Charles Finch, the guy who owns Systems Industries.”

  “Did you say Charles Finch?” My blood runs cold.

  “Yeah. He and Dax have had a feud for fucking EVER. Word on the street is he’s the one who hired Nico to mess with Dax’s brakes and caused his wife’s death. You get why I warned you about them, right? They are bad news.”

  I’m too distracted with what Kiki has just said to notice that I overpoured the whiskey I am refilling.

  “Watch it!” Joey yells.

  Kiki looks at me and cocks her head. “I know you like to look for the best in people, but those guys are wolves,” she smiles. She thinks she understands why I am upset, but she has no idea.

  “They can’t all be as bad as that guy,” I say, thinking of motorcycle man.

  Kiki sighs and rolls her eyes. I know she’s thinking that I’m a hopeless case. “Have you ever met a wolf that won’t eat a lamb when it’s hungry?”

  “Are you saying I’m the lamb in this analogy?” I chuckle. “Because I can land a punch. My mom was really adamant about me taking self-defense courses.”

  Kiki shakes her head. “You might be able to land a punch, but you definitely can’t handle anyone with that tattoo, and you don’t want to.” She squeezes my hand. “Promise me, Hannah. You don’t want to get involved with this place. Just save your money and get the hell out of here the first chance you get.”

  I squeeze her hand back. The last thing I want is trouble. But if the owner of this bar, a.k.a. the Bastard of Boston, is a sworn enemy of Charles Finch and Systems Industries then I am already accidentally knee-deep in a pile of shit.

  Despite the distractions, I manage to make it through the rest of my shift without breaking anything; though at least two customers who ordered whiskey got a glass of vermouth and I got a few choice words from Joey. I want to explain that being a ballet dancer since I was a child meant a strict diet, zero social life, and basically no alcohol. This bar, and this whole neighborhood is like a foreign planet to me. I’m not snobby about it, hell, it feels good to be with people who aren’t also secretly trying to compete with you, but it doesn’t mean that overnight I know how to handle it all.

  Honestly, I think tonight is going so much better because Samson is here, tucked under the bar, keeping his wise little dog eyes on me. My biggest complaint about my dog is that he seems to think he’s the grown-up in our relationship, and honestly, sometimes I think he isn’t all wrong.

  I wish Kiki could have stayed for my entire shift. It sure m
akes it easier having her nearby, but I’m just relieved the night is almost over. After the last few regulars leave a little after 2 a.m. Joey counts the till while I take out the trash, wipe down the counters and sweep the floor. I stand on the sidewalk outside The Spotted Owl, breathing in the crisp, fresh air as Joey locks up. Another shift down. What a relief.

  Joey lives in the opposite direction of me. He tells me I shouldn’t be walking home alone but I only live a few blocks away and I have Samson with me. Plus, taking an Uber four blocks is wasting money I don’t have. I’m not exactly killing it in the tips department, courtesy of all my bartending blunders. Joey doesn’t take much convincing and just nods and takes a call on his phone as he walks away. Samson and I head off toward home and I think that if I can just keep out of trouble and stay invisible long enough to pay off my debts, I might end up okay after all.

  Chapter 4

  Dax

  I finish my south-side business around midnight and head back towards Bennie’s Garage. These streets will never fully relinquish their hold on me. Some of the messes in South Boston can only be cleaned up by one person, and that person is me.

  When I get to the garage Bennie is nowhere in sight, and the place is eerily quiet and empty. Usually, Bennie and his rowdy crew are here working on cars until all hours of the night, causing a ruckus. The garage is a staple of the old neighborhood and the one place where, as a kid, I found a respite from the hellish reality that was South Boston… that is South Boston. With an alcoholic mom and an asshole of a stepdad who loved to knock me and my kid brother around, I figured out pretty early on that it was better to steer clear of the chaos at home too. I spent most of my time on the streets, doing odd jobs for local gangsters, running errands, anything to keep me occupied. I wanted to belong, I wanted to feel like somebody… anybody gave a shit about me. Eventually I earned my place. I was smart, strong, and most importantly, I could keep a secret. It didn’t take long for Sunny Bianchi to notice me and bring me into his gang. I was only fourteen when I got the rose tattoo. I was so young and so fucking stupid, but I finally felt like I had a family.